The Same Old Story
by Dizzy Cat
Summary: What happens when the marked man goes after the murderer of his parents? Its up to him to put a stop to the man responsible for taking the lives of so many people, but when it comes time to end his manic killing spree will he have what it takes to kill?


AN: What happens when the marked man goes after the murderer of his parents? Its up to him to put a stop to the man responsible for taking the lives of so many people, but when it comes time to end his manic killing spree, will he have what it takes to kill him?

JK Rowling wrote Harry Potter and she owns all that comes with it. Including a few days of my time, reading and rereading her works. She can keep my hours, I don't want them back.

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The Same Old Story

He leaned his back against the crumbling brick wall and put his wand to his forehead as if giving a silent prayer. His brow scrunched into a thoughtful expression as another explosion rocked the foundation on the other side of the complex.

This was not going according to plan. Where were the others? Where was the backup? Why was he here, going up against the darkest wizard the world had ever known?

He only had to allow these normal feelings to flow through his mind and body before he was able to summon up the courage within himself to answer those questions.

The others were where they were supposed to be, fighting just like he was. The backup was on the way; Brutus had only disapparated 10 minutes before. And he was here because he wouldn't allow himself to be anywhere else in the world. This was as much his responsibility as breathing was. Breathe in and out. Come fight and win.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and smoothed back his long brown hair. His bright blue eyes were twinkling with the newly rekindled adventure. He crouched low, avoiding tripping over his robes, ducking and weaving between collapsed walls and furniture. He was about to enter into an abandoned room and attempt to get the message out to regroup, when there was a scream from somewhere behind him.

He froze and whirled around brandishing his wand. He knew the voice and the face that went with that terrified yell. He hurriedly went back down the corridor, retracing his steps. He had only just left her moments before, how could she have gotten so far away from him?

He reached a fork in the building. He didn't remember this corridor at all. He had become disoriented inside the complex. He muttered a curse under his breath, the kind that wasn't magical.

He held his wand in the palm of his hand at whispered to it.

"_Point me_."

The wand spun halfway around and pointed to the left. He clutched his wand once more and made to take the next right. The entrance was north. He knew he had to go south to do what he came here to do. And that would have been the way she went.

For once he wished he would have guessed wrong. He didn't have to go far down the hall before he saw the trail of blood leading into a side room. He pulled his wand up defensively and kicked the door open. He waited a few moments before stepping inside. It was empty. The only occupant in the room was himself, and the lifeless body of his fellow conspirator. He opened his mouth, but no sound would come out. He swiped at his face as his eyes teared up. He knew he couldn't dally long. He whispered his farewells to her as he stepped back into the hall.

He felt rejuvenated towards his cause. This dark wizard, this monster had been tearing lives apart for the last 20 years! It was now his turn to try and put a stop to his tirade. It was time the killing stopped.

History repeats itself, even a muggle would agree. People never appear to learn from their past mistakes and triumphs. Like many wizards before him, the dark wizard was thirsty. And the only thing that appeared to satiate his thirst was power. How he reveled in his power. He had been building up his army for the past 10 years, getting grudgingly tired of doing all the dirty work himself. Their only apparent goal was to cause as much chaos as possible while attempting the total annihilation of pure-blood family lines.

The dark wizard's hatred of the pure-bloods stemmed from his own father's parentage. Having been disowned by his pure-blooded family, left for dead, he was barely able to come up with the money to put food on his family's table. It was because of these hardships that his father forced him to stay back from school to work to support his brother and sisters. At the tender age of 11, when most of his neighborhood gang was off to Hogwarts, he was kept behind.

The injustice that burned within him quickly went from being juvenile to being horribly volatile. When he wasn't working with his father, he would take odd-jobs for shopkeepers. He particularly found great profit from working at Flourish and Blott's. They would allow him to take any and all the books that were damaged or destroyed during transport. Slowly but surely he was teaching himself spells.

Not the censored lot the Hogwarts brats were learning. But true magic. All magic. He couldn't afford a wand, so he was only able to say the incantations. His impeccable memory for detail, allowed him to retain every spell he learned. It was the happiest moment of his life when luckily on his fourteenth birthday he stumbled across the book that would change his life. "_Wandless Magic for the Wary: A Beginner's Guide to Mastering Wandless Magic._" He had all the tools he needed now to begin his revenge.

It started simply. He took his first aggressive step against his own family. His pure-blood relatives did not stand a chance against this unknown foe. He wiped them out in a matter of months, and then turned against his own immediate family and those of his childhood gang. They all received the news while still attending Hogwarts during their fifth year. It was some what of a shock to be told by your head master that you were suddenly an orphan and that your childhood friend was to blame.

But it didn't stop there. More and more pure-blood lines were falling. With each death, the families' family trees branches were forking less and less. The available pure-blood gene pool was dwindling. A few families were getting so desperate to carry on their name and lineage they were consenting their children to marry second-cousins, cousins or worse, forcing them to marry each other.

This wrath of a man had murdered hundreds of wizards before gathering an army of half-bloods and muggle-borns to his cause. He declared his mission was valiantly serving a higher cause and they believed him. They believed he would share a fraction of his power with them. Foolish how history creates only lessons to be heard but not remembered.

Now the time had come for a last stand against his forces. Those wizards that were capable and able to fight and possessed of courage were now fighting their way through his complex. Including the blue eyed, brown-haired ringleader.

He was on the move again, running swiftly down the long hallway, attempting to find a way into the center of the pentagon shaped tower. He had memorized the layout of the building before planning this nights "suicide mission". But the plans had never shown an actual entrance to the center. Only an endless series of corridors leading around in twisting polygon circles. Now he was just looking for a sign, an untouched bookcase, a solid wall with a solid border. Or as he saw on the wall before him a lit torch.

Most of the remaining torches had all been extinguished or destroyed during the first explosions that racked the complex. This torch was not only unscathed but the flames were dancing in a wind stream that didn't exist. A magical fire, lit in a torch to distinguish it from the rest of the torches. This had to be the wall he was looking for.

He stood in the middle of the corridor with his wand in the air and turned slowly examining the walls and the ceiling. He appeared to be concentrating on things that were unseen as he continued to spin slowly on the spot gazing intently at every crack and crevice. Finally he stopped and approached the wall with the torch and placed his palm on the smooth surface. He began to chant in an unknown language as he ran his hands back and forth over the surface.

He stepped back from the wall and pointed his wand at the spot he had just run his hand over. There appeared the bright white outline of an archway with crude writing all along the edge. He muttered to himself as he read this out loud. He gave a snort as he drew up his sleeve and quickly tapped his arm with his wand. He grimaced as a substantial flow of blood began to seep from his arm. He flung the blood onto the archway. As it rumbled open to reveal a large darkened chamber, he was already performing the weaving healing motion over his arm.

He stepped cautiously into the chamber, his wand held high. While the chamber was incredibly dark, there was a ring of light that appeared in the center. The sunlight was all that penetrated the small opening at the top of the pentagon speared tower. And in the center of the ring of light, laughing as all madmen drowning in power laugh was the darkest wizard of all.

"Ahhh. Albus welcome. Welcome, welcome indeed." He was wearing a lengthy black robe that trailed behind him. The collar flared up around his face, and was trimmed in an emerald silk. His face was pale and shallow, his eyes once a rich brown were now black and bloodshot. He gave the appearance of a starved vulture.

"Grindelwald, I will ask you once to come with me quietly to Azkaban," Albus Dumbledore said continuing his approach. Grindelwald did not acknowledge that he had heard a word Albus had told him.

"It's been how many years, Albus? Twenty I think. Memories my friend. How is dear Aberforth?" He asked staring into the overhead sunlight absentmindedly. Albus just tightened his hold on his wand. "And your dear mother? Is she comfortable?"

"You know quite well that she is resting peacefully. You made sure of that 20 years ago," Albus seethed in response. Grindelwald tutted at this.

"Manners, Albus. Is this how you talk to a friend? You did get that owl I sent you years ago explaining why I had to kill your mother and father. It was pertinent to my cause. MY CAUSE!!!" Grindelwald yelled as if challenged. There was a vein protruding from beneath his collar. "You've no idea the struggles that I've had to endure." He said with the shake of a head.

"This is your last warning!" Albus commanded as he took a last step towards Grindelwald. In response, he just smiled and raised his hand.

"Alas, you are part of my cause too, Albus. I tried in vain to stop you from coming for and join me instead. You picked up a few unnecessary noble traits from Hogwarts. But, all for the cause. Shall we?" He asked not waiting for an answer before he yelled out. "_Crucio_!"

Dumbledore was ready for the attack and easily sidestepped it. He raised his wand and retaliated.

"_Impedimenta_!" This was also sidestepped as Grindelwald began to manically run about the room. Dumbledore reacted quickly as another curse came whizzing towards him from the darkened shadows.

"Dumblydore, Dumblydore, what a pleasure I have in store!" Grindelwald sang aloud before he hurled another curse at Dumbledore. On the offensive Dumbledore procured a strong shield from thin air and began to allow the curses to bounce of it and reflect back at the caster.

"CHEATER!" Grindelwald yelled out as he dodged his own rebounded Cruciatus curse. "_Reducio_!" He yelled blasting the shield and sending Dumbledore sprawling his wand flying in the opposite direction. Grindelwald cackled at this.

"Albus. It appears that you've lost your wand," he said as he crouched beside Dumbledore his hands hanging over his knees. "You need to learn to be more responsible. Oh well, as the saying goes, any last words?" He said before splaying his hand in front of Dumbledore's face, his ringed fingers like many sparkling wands.

"Just three. _Quietus_!" Dumbledore said. Grindelwald gave a choke as he clutched his throat with his jewel encrusted fingers. He sputtered and mouthed attempting to speak but unable to utter a sound. Dumbledore stood up quickly and retrieved his own wand. "Confidence often goes hand in hand with stupidity Grindelwald. Never underestimate your enemies or… your friends."

Grindelwald made a wild lunge for Dumbledore's feet but tripped over his lengthy robes and fell to the ground. When he looked up it was to see Dumbledore's wandtip pointed directly into his face.

"We both know I am not a killer. So I will give you two choices. Wait patiently here until some one comes to take you to Azkaban or attack me again and suffer the consequences," the final words weren't out of his mouth before Grindelwald made another unsuccessful lunge.

"_Incarcerous_!"

Ropes flew out towards Grindelwald and bound him up tightly as he fell to the floor with a thud. He squirmed in his tightening confines as he mouthed curses, still unable to make any sound.

"You are going to pay for your crimes and you will go to Azkaban," he said quietly. For all that he had lost and that had been taken from him, there was no hatred left in him. He would almost say he felt numb inside. But things were going to change when this monster was locked away. He, like everyone else in the world, would find happiness.

He looked down at Grindelwald's face and saw that he had begun his manic laughter again. His entire body shaking with it. He didn't see the dagger until it was too late. Grindelwald had managed to cut his bindings with a concealed dagger and was now lunging at Dumbledore the dagger coming dangerously close to his chest before he yelled, "_EXPELLIARMUS_!"

The dagger flew from Grindelwald's hand with such force it lodged itself quickly into his throat. He smiled slightly before he stumbled to his knees. Dumbledore quickly fell to his side and began to say incantations to heal the wound. He waved his wand feverishly over the wound, but it was too late. The blood seeped out from the mortal wound and coated the bottom of his robes. He looked down into his open laughing eyes as the last breath gurgled from Grindelwald's throat.

Dumbledore's face was deathly pale as he fell back to rest on his haunches. This horrible twist of fate had produced the only result Dumbledore did not think he could live with. He had become a murderer. He wasn't left alone to his thoughts for long as the long awaited backup began to pour into the chamber.

They rushed to Dumbledore upon seeing the blood and attempted to heal him.

"It's not mine," was all he said as he continued to look at the body before him. The other wizards looked at Grindelwald's bloody heap and began to talk excitedly. A cheer went up and before he knew what was happening he was being gathered into a hug.

"He's gone!"

"We've beat him!"

"Albus! You've done it!" A wizard said clapping him on the back.

"Some one contact the ministry. And Azkaban! And the prophet!"

"HE'S GONE!"

Harry shook his head as he looked at the scene from the shadows of the chamber. He felt himself being pulled out of the memory as his feet touched the wooden floor of the head master's office.

Head Mistress McGonagall looked at him expectantly.

"Anything useful?" She asked knowing full well what lay in that particular memory of Dumbledore's.

"Dumbledore didn't want to kill Grindelwald even though he killed his parents. But I have to kill Voldemort. I can't take the chance that this nightmare will never end," Harry answered sitting down in a well worn chair.

"Do you think that a day didn't go by that he didn't regret killing another human?"

Harry looked at his hands before turning a confident smirk on his former head of house.

"Do you honestly think Voldemort's still human?" Harry replied standing up and reaching over for the floo powder near the fireplace thanked Professor McGonagall for her insight and threw the powder into the flames. As he shouted "Godric's Hollow", and disappeared in a flurry of soot, he thought he saw Professor Dumbledore's portrait give him a wink.

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R&R. Updated for typos.


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